


Drift You Gross Pervert

by obicifical



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Showers, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obicifical/pseuds/obicifical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet catches Drift masturbating in the showers and proceeds to do predictable things with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drift You Gross Pervert

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my tumblr (http://oobii.tumblr.com). Apologies for the shoddy title and summary, except not really, except yes. Yeah. Let me know if you guys like it; this is sort of a guilty pleasure for me but I'd love to write more if y'all want.

Ratchet groans, running his hands under the solvent and tiredly watching the remnants of pink energon flow down the drain. His patient had stubbornly attempted to thwart his attempts to save them at every turn, but in the end had given in after much too long in the OR. His shoulders creak as he stretches his arms above his helm, standing up on his toecaps to relieve the aching tension in his frame.

He's exhausted, but occasionally his successes are rewarded- that was the last patient of the day, and there's still a few joors left before Ratchet really does have to get to berth or risk throwing off his recharge schedule. He grabs a cube from the dispenser, wincing at the stale taste, and heads down the hall to the communal washracks.

Yes. A hot shower, or maybe an oil bath if no one's hogging it (ha). Then maybe a full four joors of recharge before he'd have to get up and do it all over again. That sounded perfect.

Heavy steps resound in the empty hallway as he pauses in front of the door, taking a long drag of his energon before entering. The humidity hits him in the face and the medic squints through the damp fog, the sound of a solvent jet filling the room. Great, he'd have to shower with someone else nattering at him, or maybe he'd get Blaster and have to listen to some screeching Kaonite dirg--

"Uhn- _uhn_ , Primus, yes, frag- yes, _yes, please!_ "

What on Cybertron..?

Scowling deep, Ratchet sets his cube on a wall shelf and stalks towards the source of the noise, trying to figure out exactly whose voice it is- it's static-laced, distorted from pleasure and as the closed shower booth comes into view Ratchet's pump does an interesting twist in his chest and leaps into his intake.

Drift. Of all the mecha. Leaned back against the glass door with his long legs askew, gripping the handheld showerhead tightly with the water blast aimed between his legs. Ratchet folds his arms and scowls even deeper, trying to summon the effort to open his mouth and bark at the swordsbot, but Drift writhes and cries out and the desire to alert him suddenly bleeds from Ratchet's frame.

"Come _on_ , frag, please, frag, _please_ \--" From his aching yelps Ratchet guesses that Drift's overload seems to be eluding him, and the idea stokes a lick of hot arousal in the pit of Ratchet's midsection; he watches Drift's backstrut arch and twist as the ex-Decepticon chases ecstacy, the normally strong and smooth voice cracking loudly, reflected in the superb acoustics of the otherwise empty washracks.

Tearing himself away from a vouyeristic fantasy a mech his age should _not_ have been indulging in, Ratchet raps on the glass door sharply and clears his intake. " _Drift._ "

Drift starts and yells, and for a klik Ratchet's spark draws in on itself at the sound; did he really just startle him into an overload?

But Drift drops the showerhead and twists back to look up at him, still visibly shivering and squirming, and the look on his face is pure blissful agony. Ratchet pulls aside the door to Drift's booth and sidesteps the showerhead, picking up Drift by one arm to drag him to his peds.

He crushes their lips together in a rough kiss, slamming Drift up against the wall. Before Drift even reciprocates it he's grinding up against Ratchet's frame, thighs spread and lubricant mixed with water dribbling onto the medic's legs.

Ratchet pulls away after a long klik, his ventilations doing nothing to soothe his rapidly heating frame. Drift can't seem to keep his hands off of him; Ratchet grabs one, pins it above Drift's helm and growls out a sharp "Yes?"

"Yes! _Please,_ Ratchet--" Drift tilts his hips up, nearly sobbing with need, and Ratchet drags a hand down his front before alighting on his valve components. Drift's swollen and oversensitive, valve rim tightening as Ratchet brushes a fingertip across his opening, and the swordsbot's helm tips back with a long whine.

Ratchet gives in and pushes his middle finger into him, tension cables tightening as Drift's valve admits his digit readily. The ex-Decepticon makes a hilariously high-pitched noise, wrapping his free arm around Ratchet's shoulders lightly.

Carefully, Ratchet slips in his third finger, exhaling sharply at how easily Drift takes it- his valve is so relaxed from arousal that he could probably admit Ratchet's whole fist, but there's no way Drift would last that long.

Maybe another time, if Drift ever speaks to him after this.

He drives his fingers in deep, stroking along the ceiling of Drift's valve with smooth, long thrusts, searching out his ceiling node cluster if he has one. Drift seems to be doing just fine without it; his hips buck of their own accord, the hand trapped in Ratchet's squeezing in time to the medic's movements. Ratchet's never heard a bot make noises like the white mech is making right now-- soft hums and growling gasps, the kind of moans that one usually heard in an old erotica holo.

"Ratchet-- _Ratchet_ ," Drift whines, tipping his helm forward till he scrapes against Ratchet's chevron. He looks drunk off pleasure, and Ratchet can feel the back of his valve starting to tense up, charge zapping between their bodies. He reaches in on his next thrust, up and deep as far as he can go, jackhammering into the ceiling of Drift's valve--

" _No!_ No--" Drift starts and yelps, jerking his hips to the side, and Ratchet rips his fingers out with an alarmed rumble. The swordsbot keens and pulls his hand out of Ratchet's grip, reaching down to grab his wrist. "Left- left, left- _left_ side-"

Left side? Ratchet wanted to say, but Drift manually re-inserts his fingers and then Ratchet gets it, angles his movements up against the left inner wall of Drift's valve and yes, there it is- not quite a _ceiling_ cluster per se but a sensitive jumble of nodes all the same. He massages it, pushing in deep, and Drift goes stiff and quiet for a long few kliks, as though his whole world's narrowing down to just the medic's fingers inside him. Ratchet can feel the tension cables surrounding his valve tightening, ready, aching, and he presses up against Drift's front, wrapping his other arm around his waist.

"Come on, Drift."

And Drift shatters with a cry wrenched from his spark, his entire lower half snapping forward in a sharp thrust as his valve pulsates _hard_ around Ratchet's fingers, milking a spike that isn't there. The medic's arm shakes as he struggles not to pull his fingers out, the sensations bombarding his attuned digits nearly overwhelming him. Drift squirms wildly, drawing out his overload as long as he can before belatedly grabbing onto Ratchet for support as his legs buckle.

"Easy- easy." Ratchet slips his fingers out and wraps his arms around Drift, lowering him to the floor gently. Drift shivers, stroking Ratchet's forearm as they settle, and leans against his front.

"I came here to take a _shower_ ," Ratchet grumbles. Drift looks up at him, bleary with post-overload bliss, and _laughs_ \-- pulls himself up by hanging onto Ratchet's shoulders, and kisses his chin.

"You can still take a shower." The ex-Decepticon reaches over and grabs the showerhead, splashing Ratchet with its still-running flow, and laughs again at the medic's angry splutter. Ratchet grabs the nozzle and returns the favor, and Drift ends up even more soaked than before, the two of them chasing each other around the small space like newbuilds.


End file.
